


astral

by hurricanekoenig



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Memory Loss, Near Death Experiences, Pilots, Slow Burn, as is enemies to lovers - Poe is not super nice to reader in the beginning but neither are you, because I want to pretend TROS didn’t happen, takes place after tlj
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:28:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24378733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurricanekoenig/pseuds/hurricanekoenig
Summary: You’re a talented TIE fighter pilot with a past you can’t quite remember. A natural enemy for Poe Dameron, you can’t quite shake the feeling that he’s more than just a figure on the other side of the war.
Relationships: Poe Dameron & Reader, Poe Dameron & You, Poe Dameron/Reader, Poe Dameron/You
Comments: 9
Kudos: 80





	1. down

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr! [californiakoenig](http://www.californiakoenig.tumblr.com)

The nerves always hit the worst just before takeoff. Your gloved hands grip the control yoke tightly in anticipation of the crackling, mechanical voice from the control room. Your focus is so singular you almost worry you might miss the signal, the adrenaline pumping so intensely that you no longer hear anything as you envision the thrusters accelerating you into the vacuum of darkness that stands before you in wait.

The group of standard TIE fighters line the side of the hangar, the roar of the engines serving as a welcome melody to the flight crew tasked with keeping the starfighters in pristine condition for these very moments. You roll your shoulders and neck in an effort to loosen up, the helmet feeling heavier without the action of flight to distract you. You’ve always thought the full mask to be overkill but the technology within it is invaluable. Your eyes dance across the data projections and navigational trajectory lining your vision through the goggles though you’ve been studying the information for days now.

Everything about this job comes naturally to you. From the rigorous years of training to the basic mechanics of flying a spacecraft while shooting down moving targets, you’ve proven yourself a worthy candidate to lead this squadron. But despite your acknowledged competence, the nervousness continues to creep in at this stage in missions, a bodily response you can’t control and would never admit you feel. The danger overwhelms your system, and in a way it functions as a motivator, a leap of faith that you have no choice but to return to the Supremacy safely. When you inevitably do, the blip of worry you felt will be forgotten, replaced by the high of accomplishment and hunger for your next outing.

“Look alive,” you breathe out, more for yourself than anything but still a call to your squadron and reminder to the control team that you’re ready and waiting, like horses at the starting gate. You jiggle the control yoke with impatience, but not with a deliberate enough force for the starfighter to move.

Suddenly, the voice you’ve been waiting for slices through the silence. “Blue, you are clear for departure.”

Electricity jolts through your body, flowing directly to your fingertips as you spring to action, flipping switches and turning dials in a sequence that’s second nature to you. “Copy on Blue. Squadron, let’s call out and roll out.”

Your fingers are still at work as the five pilots on your team confirm back with their callsigns. A mental checkmark locks them in as you picture them running through the same final pre-flight sequence from behind your docking station. It’s a strange paradox, being a part of a movement so insistent on resisting any form of attachment and yet as each pilot verbalizes their chosen identifier over the intercom you’re cognizant of the relationship you’ve built together. It’s a reminder of your status, that you’re above the average trooper.

A tiny voice in the back of your mind scoffs. How novel that you get to have a nickname. You don’t have a real name, just a computer-generated identifier. CN-5552. Before your promotion to commander, your call was Cyan, now been simplified to Blue. But it’s not a real name; only a few of your acquaintances use it to address you, and every time that string of letters and numbers is called to get your attention the deeply seeded resentment twists its vines on your heart. You’re a cog in a well-oiled machine and while you all know that, you can’t help but want more for yourself.

One mission at a time.

You flip one last switch on the TIE and begin your ascent from the dock, the excitement settling your nerves as you lead the group out of the hangar and into the vast expanse of space surrounding the gargantuan star destroyer you call home. A blanket of calm wraps around you, and you remember exactly why it’s all worth it. This is where you belong.

Falling into formation, your course is set for just above Ajara where First Order informants have notified of unusually high activity, leading the investigative division to uncover the location of what is believed to be a new Resistance base. The mission is simple, only to scout the area and report back. It doesn’t take long for your squad to navigate to the location and you immediately give the signal to spread out and collect the necessary data.

“Don’t draw any attention,” You remind the crew through your mouthpiece. “We want a peaceful trip here. We’ll be back to light ‘em up later.”

You assume your position and set the data to start logging, making your own mental notes of the area and the types of traffic soaring through. The minutes pass slowly, allowing time for you to revel in this space that’s only yours. It’s a different TIE every time, but the configuration is always the same. Your home isn’t the sterile, nondescript quarters on the Supremacy, but this tight space of durasteel and top-of-the-line technology that’s an extension of your very being.

“Blue,” a deep voice rings out in your ear. It’s Mav, your second in command. “Permission to light up some X-Wings now?”

You’re ripped out of your zone as your eyes quickly lock on the six Resistance starfighters rising to your altitude, your stomach dropping and adrenaline kicking up. Immediately, your fingers run through the controls as you prepare your laser cannons.

“Permission granted.”

Thus begins the dance. Flying starfighters is an art, requiring a combination of innate ability and dedication to the craft. It’s the only thing you can appreciate about your opponents - that on some level, they possess the same skills as you while you trade maneuvers with the X-Wing currently on your tail. You aim your cannons at one in your line of sight that’s a little too close to your second for comfort, letting out a tiny yelp of approval when your blast makes contact with its wing, but you’ve only taken out a single cannon and engine. The fighter still flies.

Worry creeps into your bloodstream when you see the second wave of X-Wings approaching, far more than just you and your five cohorts can take at once with only standard TIE fighters. You curse to yourself. You don’t even have hyperdrive abilities for a quick getaway. This was supposed to be a simple, uneventful mission.

“Blue to control, we’re taking fire from a brigade of Rebs. We’re outnumbered. Requesting backup and extraction ASAP,” You call out, slightly short of breath from your exasperation as you dodge the army of X-Wings while looking out for your squadron. So far, everyone is still online, thank the Maker.

A voice yells out through your helmet as you continue to outmaneuver the enemy. “Popper here, my shield is down!”

“I’ve got you,” You answer, closing in and taking out the X-Wing targeting him though relief doesn’t come, the band of Rebel pilots still too much for the six of you. In your flurry, you wonder if you missed the response from the control team.

“Blue to control, do you copy?” You ask, the urgency in your voice telling.

Finally, the tinny voice responds evenly, calmly. “Command requests that you pull out immediately.”

“Pull out? We’re just in TIE/fos! We need-” You pause to shoot down another X-Wing, and the voice replies before you can finish your rebuttal. It’s grating like sandpaper as it refuses your plea.

“Return to the Supremacy at once. Any Rebels who follow are at the mercy of the destroyer’s cannons.”

You don’t have time to argue, relaying the message to your squadron. They don’t question it, and you watch four of them quickly steer out of the melee towards the destroyer. You know that these fighters have just a little more kick than the standard X-Wings, hoping that it’ll be enough to outrun the blaster fire before you’re out of range.

“Blue, looks like your friend is on your six,” you hear Mav say as he flies past you on his way out. Your skin chills immediately as his words register and you quickly pull on the control yoke, pulling off a swirl around the offending starfighter so that you’ve switched places. You’re chasing him now. Your eyes widen and a smirk plays at your lips when you run your gaze along the orange stripes, clear identifiers that it’s Dameron.

You waste no time training your lasers on him, though he manages to just miss each shot you take. You grow more and more frustrated until he dips under a pair of X-Wings aimed at you that you haven’t noticed, too focused on his single starfighter. Hitting the acceleration as hard as you can, you speed over them as they launch their attacks just a second too late. You laugh, witnessing a glimmer of their dumbfounded expressions.

“Blue, pull out now.” It’s mission control, and they’re not happy with you. You wish you could mute your receiver, knowing that this opportunity is too important to pass up and needing every ounce of focus. This is what you’ve been waiting for. You haven’t seen him in battle in months, and you’re not going to let being outnumbered stop you from what you know you’re capable of - what you’ve prepared for. You keep one hand on the yoke as you toss your helmet off and finally, all you can hear is engines revving and blaster fire.

Spinning and weaving, you catch up to Black Leader and you both overcompensate for the other, your starfighters dangerously close. So close you can see him clearly, and he can see you - not the nondescript, black helmet, but you. Your face. Transparisteel and a few feet of space is the only thing that separates you, and it’s as though the entire battle is frozen in time. An uneasy feeling washes over you as you lock eyes, a split second passing in the same space as an eternity.

“Your shot, Blue!” Mav calls, shaking you out of the trance. Of course he hasn’t left you. He’s your second, and one of the only people you might consider a friend. But you’re still watching Poe Dameron like he’s some alternate-universe mirror of you, unable to tear your eyes away, and he mouths something you can’t make out.

You know what you have to do. Your hand is hovering, shaking over the trigger but his eyes. You’ve never seen them in person and they’ve rendered you paralyzed. There’s something about them that short circuits your brain and suddenly you’re as useless as a mouse droid.

Everything catches up to you in fast-motion as you realize you should’ve taken your shot ages ago and the fact that you even still have one is a miracle. Why aren’t the X-Wings protecting him? You could’ve been dead by now. 

He called them off. That’s what he said while you were staring each other down.

Despite everything that you know, everything that you’ve done in preparation for this moment, you can’t pull the trigger.

You take one last look at him before you pull away, aggressively hitting the acceleration as you hightail it back towards the Supremacy. Your body shakes uncontrollably, and you’re thankful you have the seat and your grip on the controls to keep you steady. Mav follows close behind, knowing better than to ask what happened.

You’re not sure you even know.

\---

There’s no sound save for the tapping of Major Stirling’s boot on the reinforced durasteel floor of the briefing room. All five of your squadron members have given their mission report already, leaving you sitting before the brooding leader of the TIE fighter corps as he reads over what they’ve recounted. The room is dark, lit by only one extremely bright light shining over the table as if you’re a suspect in a murder investigation. You’re sweating, still in your flight suit and the exhaustion is setting in deep as you’ve been waiting to speak to him since you returned to the Supremacy. You’ve run through the events of the outing enough times in your head that it’s starting to become hazy around the edges.

“MN-2189 alleges you ignored mission control to go after a Resistance pilot.” His voice is cold, almost mocking. You know that Mav didn’t phrase it quite that way. You grit your teeth, taking a slow breath in and out before responding.

“It was Commander Dameron.”

Stirling tilts his head at your use of the name. “You’re on a first name basis with a Rebel, now?”

You keep quiet as he continues reading over the notes, his expression unreadable save for the raise of his left eyebrow that tells you exactly how much he’s enjoying this. It’s not often that you make a mistake, and never one of this caliber. A sick feeling twists in your stomach as you wonder how long he’s been waiting for you to screw up.

“You were unsuccessful in your attempt to terminate Commander Dameron,” His tone is short and matter-of-fact.

You’d rehearsed your response to this inevitable question. It would have plagued you even if you weren’t required to give a report. “My cannon jammed.”

When you look up from the gray table separating you from Major Stirling, he’s narrowing his eyes at you. A problem for an X-Wing maybe, but a TIE? The technology was too advanced. 

“The engineers will corroborate this, I’m sure.” The sarcasm drips from each enunciated word.

“Sir, it was a bare bones crew with basic TIE fighters. I’m requesting a larger contingent and Special Forces TIEs for the squadron leaders. There’s clearly something important to the Resistance on Ajara.” You’re hopeful he’ll see beyond your blunder fueled by emotion to the bigger issue your mission has uncovered.

“Request denied,” He retorts, not bothering to even pretend he ponders your request. “Your inability to operate a standard TIE does not merit an equipment upgrade, and you’d be wise to leave the strategizing to your superiors.”

Stirling has always had it out for you, even more so since receiving the promotion to major. Despite serving as the right-hand man to the preceding major, a man who recognized your potential from day one, he never understood the decision to elevate you to commander. He favored Mav, believing that a woman couldn’t possibly lead a starfighter squadron effectively. If he had it his way, you’d be relegated to sanitation. You’re pretty sure you are currently on your way there.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” He asks, a hint of incredulity seeping into his voice.

You make every effort to smooth down the waves of rage crashing inside of you. The mission was sloppy, and you don’t do sloppy. You want to blame it all on the intel, that your squad was grossly underprepared for what the First Order had to have known was a dangerous mission. But you have no soapbox to stand on, what with your rash decision guided completely by your emotions. Emotions you didn’t know you had, emotions you definitely aren’t allowed to have, and now they’re at the forefront of your mind begging to be processed.

“No sir,” You challenge, playing the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed First Order soldier. “I hope the mission provided the desired information and I await my next assignment.” 

His lips retreat into a thin line of frustration. He could absolutely suspend you or demote you, but today he doesn’t, aware of the many missions prior you’ve successfully completed and the high regard your squadron members have for you. He knows he’s successfully planted the seed of doubt, embarrassed you enough in the eyes of your squad members, and for now that’s enough.

“Dismissed.”

The weight lifts from your shoulders as you give him a nod, quickly excusing yourself from his heavy gaze, though you know it will follow you around even when you close your eyes tonight.

\---

Poe Dameron’s face is all you can see as you zone out onto your dinner plate, struggling to process the events of the day. How is it that just hours ago, you were only a few feet away from him staring into his eyes? And why has it somehow completely altered your state of mind?

“It’s like you know him or something,” Mav says through a mouthful of whatever they’re serving for tonight’s dinner. You sit across from him in the mess hall, not hungry in the slightest but honoring a squadron tradition.

“I feel like I do,” You reply, attempting to quell both him and yourself, the unsettling idea chipping away at you. Mav knows how diligently you’ve studied not only the X-Wing corps, but its prominent pilot Black Leader. He’s not usually one to pick up on social cues, but he recognizes that your interest in him crosses the line of job preparation into personal vendetta territory. You chew on the inside of your lower lip as you retreat further into your own thoughts.

“You want to take that prettyboy for a ride, don’t you?” He teases. He’s seen the Resistance propaganda posters using Dameron as a prop. You’ve heard that copies of these posters exist somewhere on the Supremacy as target practice for overzealous troopers. You don’t want to touch that question with a ten-foot pole.

“Shut up,” You bark back, throwing your untouched roll at him. He grabs it, raising his hands in surrender as he takes a bite.

You focus on Mav for the first time since you’ve sat down across from him, watching him. He’s tall and broad, filling out the sleek black flight suit like it’s his job. His blonde hair is short, and his beard is always neatly trimmed. His light blue eyes are piercing, but hold a warmth to them from the smile he almost always sports. He’s the perfect combination of serious and laidback, a clear alpha male with enough confidence to be himself no matter what the macho troopers spew about being real men.

You can count on one hand the people you might be able to trust in the First Order, and he’s one of them.

“Mav, have you ever thought about your life before joining the First Order?” You ask, ignoring the current direction of the conversation.

His eyes widen for a split second before his back stiffens as he sits up straighter. “There is nothing before the First Order.”

His voice is monotone and as it echoes into your ears, a shiver runs through you. You focus on controlling your expression, hiding the disappointment but electing to push it once more. You’ve always thought there was an inkling more of humanity to him; it’s how you even came to think of him as a friend.

“You never wonder about your parents? Or the planet you were born on?”

His fingers curl tighter around the silverware he’s gripping, his wrists rolling as they rest on the table. “You do?”

His facial features have soured, his lip almost a snarl as his eyes darken while trained on you. Your hands are shaking and you realize how quickly he would turn on you if needed, a slap in the face all too easily delivered. Maybe he really is better suited for the role of squadron leader.

“I can’t remember anything,” You mumble quietly, a white lie you know he won’t detect. You can’t remember much, but there is something there and it’s all the more haunting. You wonder if it’s a similar feeling for the others, but maybe they’re too afraid to say so. 

He loosens his grip on the silverware and his shoulders relax. “You were very young,” He offers, digging his fork into the unidentified mound of food. “We all were.”

You worry if you say more, you’ll buy yourself a visit to evaluation. Today has been hard enough, so you change the subject to the obvious topic of when your squadron will be called back to finish what you’ve started.

“I’d say be ready at any moment,” Mav projects confidently to the group, and his voice echoes loudly throughout the mess hall. “You’ll finish him off this time, eh Blue?”

Your eyes snap to Mav’s and without hesitation you say, “I’ll bring Dameron down.”

He laughs and nods, raising his hand for a high five. You make contact with his hand limply, realizing just a little too late that the sentiment leaves you feeling slightly nauseous. You shake it off, excusing yourself in favor of the flight sim where you’ll spend any and all free time you have until your next mission. When you see Poe Dameron again you will not hesitate, you’re sure of it.


	2. kill of the night

It isn’t long before you receive notice that your squadron is assigned a follow-up mission to Ajara. It’s rushed, and the lack of details leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Major Stirling hasn’t even bothered to schedule in mission prep, instead instructing you to rely on the information you’ve already gathered prior to the initial mission in conjunction with what you all witnessed from the Rebel fighters. Essentially, you’re flying by the seat of your pants for the sake of the First Order and its pride.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly zip up the pristine black flight suit, watching the action in the mirror hanging on the wall in your quarters. Everything is silent, amplifying your heart beating in your ears and the swish your suit makes with even the most minor of movements. You run your eyes over the figure before you in the mirror. The pre-flight nerves have returned, but seeing yourself in uniform supplies a feeling of belonging and purpose that aids in drowning out everything going on in your head.

Your eyelids are heavy and you’re not sure if you got any sleep at all last night. Every time you closed your eyes, Poe Dameron was right there looking back at you from his X-Wing. Going over every move you made in flight, you failed to find an answer for why you didn’t simply pull the trigger when you had the chance. There was no reason why you couldn’t have done it, and yet at point blank range you did nothing. Months of studying and training wasted. The only thing you successfully accomplished was proving Stirling right that you weren’t cut out for your role as commander. And it scared you.

Your lips roll into a thin line as you grimace at yourself, searching for anything outside of uniform code. You pull at the waist of the flight suit, smoothing it down over your chest before finally forcing yourself to leave the safety of your quarters. There’s a familiar quiet hum in the corridors of the Supremacy; the infrastructure of the ship is always hard at work housing the base of the First Order. You stand there immobile while the door to your quarters whooshes closed behind you. A group of troopers march by, their footsteps falling in unison and echoing through the hallway in rhythm. They stare ahead and you’re not even sure if they notice you standing there, too focused on whatever it is they’re heading for.

The hallway is dark. The black of the walls, floor and ceiling are foreboding and yet there’s nowhere to hide from the light illuminating you. It’s not safe to feel here. It’s not safe to think here. All you can do is the job you’re called to do, so you put one foot in front of the other and lock your unease away for some other time.

You round the corner to the hangar, the smell of jet fuel awakening your nostrils. The high ceiling and vast open space of the room is a welcome change from your small room and the winding, suffocating hallways of the destroyer. The hangar is one of a few places allowed to be loud and busy, the squeals of machinery and sparks of light remind you that this place is alive - much more alive than anything else you’ve experienced on the Supremacy - and you find comfort in that.

As you close the distance between the threshold of the hangar and the line of docked TIE fighters, you see the familiar faces of engineers and pilots and can’t help the smallest smile that reaches only your eyes. You jog up the steps to the first TIE in the lineup and are immediately uplifted when you see the technician making the final checks on your starfighter.

“Must be my lucky day if Bright Eyes is checking my fighter,” You say as you lean against the railing. The engineer you’ve affectionately nicknamed snaps her attention from the datapad she was previously engrossed in. Just like you knew they would, her big brown eyes are wide as the smile spreads across her face to see you.

“It’s the First Order’s luck that you’re leading the mission today!” She replies exuberantly. You hold back your doubtful expression, the nerves sitting in your stomach like a rock from her sentiment.

In the First Order, there isn't much consistency due to the expectation of uniformity among everything from starfighters to employees. All of the TIEs function the same, so there’s no reason for any one pilot to be assigned a specific vessel. Each piece of the puzzle should mold to fit wherever they are needed and excel there. Few exceptions are made, though the executives at least recognize that squadrons should remain together. Technicians aren’t afforded the same luxury. Most of them are somewhat familiar faces to you, but Bright Eyes is the only one you really know, thanks to her extroversion and disregard of the social norms. Most technicians wouldn’t be caught dead talking to the pilots, or anyone outside their department for that matter.

She was drawn immediately to you the first time she was assigned to work the same TIE you were flying that day. She saw a female commander, and in that she saw hope.

Being as talkative as she was, you gladly listened to distract yourself from the pre-mission nerves and in turn gained a friend. She was funny, detrimentally optimistic and a breath of fresh air. Though it was practically unheard of, she was determined to make the jump from technician to pilot and you promised to support her in any way that you could. You wish you had more time and freedom to spend working with her, but you’ve only been met with resistance each time you try.

You offer Bright Eyes a somber smile and watch as she finishes her inspection, your eyes wandering to check on the rest of your squadron as they wait in similar positions. She leans against the railing next to you and when you meet her gaze, her brow furrows. You look down at your boots and feign interest in the tiniest of scuffs, knowing you can’t hide the fear today. Looking through the hangar, there are more squadrons preparing to embark but it’s not enough to quell the feeling that something’s amiss.

“She ready to fly?” You ask, nodding at the model representation of the First Order fleet in front of you.

Bright Eyes nods. “I know you’ll get what you’re looking for this time!”

You fake a smile and thank her as you grab your helmet, attaching the tubes and adjusting accordingly. You catch Mav’s glance just before you climb into the TIE and he sends you a smirk, pointing a finger and raising his eyebrows. He doesn’t have to say the words for you to know exactly what he means. Bring Black Leader down.

\---

The Resistance wasn’t expecting the First Order to return so soon, and you’re glad that while it most definitely wasn’t at your suggestion Major Stirling did decide to return to Ajara as quickly as he did. The X-Wings are slow to respond, focusing on the Ground-hogs heading for the surface while your squadron waits high above for more to appear. Your squadron never engages in planet-side flight and while there’s natural competition between your squadron and other squadrons that do, you’re thankful that they seem to be doing their job effectively.

“What’s your number?” Mav’s voice comes through your helmet and your focus breaks as you realize the squad is idly making conversation while they wait for action.

“Come on, keep the waves clear,” You admonish. Hovering in formation, you look over and see him in position just a few feet behind you. Additional squadrons are spaced out evenly on either side of you.

“Blue,” He whines. “What is then? Tell me how many Rebels you’ve shot down and I’ll shut up.”

You allow yourself time to inhale and exhale slowly. The thought has never crossed your mind. As you honestly ponder what that number might be, you realize that in recent memory you haven’t shot to kill but merely to render ships obsolete. You think of throwing out a fake number, but you’re not sure what would be considered normal for a commander. You know that it’s happened, but you’d rather not celebrate it.

“I said to keep the waves clear, Mav.”

“Fine, fine,” He says. “The most important one will be down today anyway. You see that black and orange X-Wing, you shoot to kill.” His voice drips through the comm system and into your ears, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.

“All of you stand down on Black Leader,” You blurt. “That’s an order.”

You look ahead, avoiding the prying gazes of your squadron and focusing on the fighters in the distance. You can make out their criss-cross shape through your helmet’s vision as it immediately identifies them as Rebel Alliance starfighters heading towards you. You’re almost thankful to see them, grateful for the distraction from the conversation you’d hoped to avoid altogether.

“Let’s advance,” You bark, hitting the acceleration. The power of the thrusters is exhilarating, the stars blurring slightly as you whizz past them. You immediately fire once you’re within range, and your squad takes out the first wave of fighters with ease.

The battle descends into chaos quicker than you can realize as more and more ships join the fight and your eyes rake through the disorder, searching for that orange and black X-Wing. When it’s unclear if it’s in this group, you focus on the fighters that are, locking on targets and blasting with everything you have. You’re in no mood to mess around, your nostrils flaring and eyebrows knit in concentration as you tail a particularly slippery X-Wing.

You hear Mav whoop over the comm system and your heart rate quickens when you let your eyes fall off-target just in time to witness a black starfighter dipped in orange accents soaring past. “Baby Blue, your moment has arrived.”

With a burst of aggression, you make a hard turn to follow the X-Wing’s path and you think that your heart might jump straight out of your chest. As soon as you catch up, you’re hot on his tail trying your damnedest to fly in sync. He knows you’re there, and he’s not making it easy to keep up. You have to remind yourself to breathe as you mirror his movements, looping in and out of the melee while you line up your shot. It seems he’s figured out your patterns. You keep your eyes trained on him as you rack your brain for what comes next.

You pepper him with more blaster fire that eludes his fighter and he leads you into the epicenter of the fight once more. You can only assume you speed past Mav as you hear him shout, “Come on Blue, you’ve got this!”

Suddenly Dameron is twisting through space, moving farther and farther away from the core of the action. You follow, though you grow more nervous as he continues to drive you both away from your squadrons. He floats in and out of your range when you’re blindsided by an X-Wing that ambushes you out of nowhere, most likely waiting for you while your tunnel vision didn’t allow you to see it.

“BLUE!” A voice screams through your headset. You can’t see straight, your TIE making loops as the engines struggle to function given the damage. Your ears ring from the starfighter’s complaints and alerts flash both on the control panel and in your helmet. You grit your teeth, your fingers rapidly running through the controls. The TIE settles only slightly, but enough for you to regain your focus. Black Leader is still in your line of sight, making a turn towards you. You yell out in frustration as you hit the acceleration, heading straight for him in a last attempt.

Somehow, it’s on target. You hit him with your blasters and follow it up with a collision from your TIE and everything goes silent as you both tumble, dropping altitude quickly. You don’t realize how low he lured you until you’re falling into the atmosphere of the planet, the speed at which you’re traveling causing fire to take hold of the durasteel. The heat encroaches and beads of sweat drench you underneath the helmet. Frantically, you attempt to get your systems to respond but it’s too late and it urges you to prepare for ejection.

You know the process for this. Escape the TIE by following the ejection protocol once you’re close to landfall. You’ve memorized it. Your hands shake as you reach for the button, straining desperately but the straps holding you in are doing too good of a job and you can’t reach. You try with all of the strength you can muster to rip the straps off, but it’s not enough. The frustration takes over, a tear slipping down the side of your face and you brace yourself for impact.

You’ve heard about life flashing before you when you might die, and you’re fairly sure that’s what’s happening to you but the images are foreign. It’s flashes of deep green leaves as you’re running through a jungle. It’s sitting on a beach and watching the moon as the waves roll in, tracing words in the sand. A man and a woman smiling at you, resembling a version of you that you’ve never met.

The tears are streaming down your face. You’re about to die and you’re watching a life that’s decidedly not yours.

And then everything goes black.

\---

Your eyes flutter open and for a moment, you’re not sure if you’re alive or dead. Based on the throbbing pain in your head and the shattered transparisteel in front of you, your best guess is that you somehow survived. Your breathing is heavy and you patiently slow it down, squirming out of the fighter’s harness now that you don’t have gravity working against you. Your mind is racing, but all you can think about is how badly you need to get out of the starfighter. The claustrophobia of it is crushing you.

To no surprise, nothing on the TIE is online. Your helmet is useless without a communication signal as well and you rip it off along with the transfer hose. You push at the transparisteel with your hands, trying to lift the hatch. It gives slightly, but not enough to open. You wince, your ribs feeling as though they’re stabbing your lungs as you move your arms. You take a short break, waiting to regain your vision as the pain fades slightly. You curl into the seat and instead use your feet. Kicking with all of your body weight, you let out a grunt and the hatch pops open reluctantly, a few shards of transparisteel falling down onto you. You gently brush at your face, your fingers coming away with blood.

Pushing through the pain, you pull yourself out of the TIE and slide awkwardly down the curve of the cabin. You make an effort to catch yourself before you hit the ground, but it’s no use and what breath you have left is knocked out of you as you collide with dirt and debris.

“This is less than ideal,” You say to yourself, slowly sitting upright as you begin to feel somewhat normal again. You look around your surroundings, taking note of everything though you have no way of knowing where you are. A large forest is only a few yards away from the clearing you’ve landed on. You’ve never seen so much green in your life when you remember - you can't remember ever being on a planet.

You gingerly rise from your seated position, thankful that nothing is spinning anymore. Reaching into your vest, you take out your comlink. You stare at the screen, willing it to respond but of course it doesn’t. These things are supposed to work anywhere. Where the hell are you?

Surveying your options, you notice a small cloud of smoke billowing not far from you. You reach for the blaster holstered at your thigh and as your fingers wrap around it, you know you have at least one thing that’ll protect you and it gives you the confidence to investigate what, if anything, is in the distance.

Luckily, you think your only injuries are bruised ribs and some scrapes on your face as you have no problem walking. Approaching the cloud of smoke, your eyes widen and you’re stopped in your tracks. There, pushing into the dirt, is a black X-Wing striped with orange spouting smoke from its engines. Poe crashed here too.

Your hand doesn’t leave your blaster as you slowly step towards the starfighter. The hatch is still down and your eyes fall to the pilot who remains inside, unconscious. You’re frozen, your blaster points at him though you have no idea what your next move is. You’ve gone through surface combat training, but you never expected to use it. You’re still a little confused as to how you ended up here, and how this is really a planet? Maybe you didn’t die but you’re passed out, and this is some twisted figment of your imagination.

If Major Stirling was here, would the order be to kill him? You don’t think so. They’d want to question him; take him as a prisoner and torture Alliance secrets out of him. So you decide that’s what you’ll do as you tap the tip of your blaster on the transparisteel bubble enclosing him in the X-Wing.

“Hey,” You slowly find your voice. “Are you alive?”

You watch patiently until his head starts to loll between his shoulders and you jump at the movement. He’s like a rare form of life you’ve never witnessed before, shadows of stubble covering his jaw and pink lips parted as he breathes in shallow gasps of air. You’re nervous as his eyes flutter open behind the yellow visor of the helmet and immediately they grow as wide as moons when they rest on you.

“Out of the X-Wing, now,” You bark at him. He barely lifts a finger and the hatch to the starfighter opens.

“You know, I have one of those too,” He says, his voice gravelly as his eyes point to your blaster. You never thought about what his voice would sound like, but now that you’re hearing it you think it fits him. Smooth, whimsical, and confident, but grating as all hell.

“Yeah? Where is it then?”

He squirms in his seat before producing his own blaster from inside the fighter, waving it weakly. “What now, vac-head?”

He has a point.

“I had you first, scum.” You growl, eyeing him over the barrel as you tighten your grip and shift your weight in your boots.

“I had you second,” He retorts. “We can do this all day, sweetheart.”

The heat rises on your cheeks and you grind your teeth together. Who the fuck is he to call you sweetheart? You step towards him and use the blaster to push that ugly Rebel Alliance helmet off his head, returning the barrel to his forehead once it’s off and pushing into his skin. “Call me that again.”

“Alright, no pet names, got it.” The words tumble from his lips and he raises his arms in surrender.

“Get out of the X-Wing,” You repeat. He stares at you with hands raised, his grip on the blaster loose. He puts it down gently and smiles sweetly at you.

“Do you mind giving me a little space?” He asks. You breathe in a deep sigh before pulling a few inches back.

“Thank you,” He mutters, unstrapping from the starfighter. He braces his arms on the sides and attempts to pull himself out when his face twists in pain and he drops back into the seat abruptly, swearing and hissing. You raise your eyebrows at him until he finally opens his eyes to meet your gaze. “Yeah, not happening.”

“I have a blaster to your head, you might want to reevaluate that,” You suggest, growing exceedingly frustrated with the Rebel. He shrugs.

“I can’t move my leg, so go ahead, shoot me. I’m not going anywhere whether it’s your doing or mine,” He says indignantly. You study his face, searching for any sign that he’s lying. You know you can’t just leave him here.

“Any of your comms working?” You ask, your blaster remaining pointed. He smirks and you fight every urge to wipe it from his face with a strike from your weapon. He runs his fingers along the controls and his mouth fades into a frown. He then rummages around in his pockets and pulls out a positively rudimentary looking comlink, pushing the buttons and failing to make contact.

“Okay then, any idea where we are?” You try. He cranes his neck to look around but shakes his head. “Are all the planets in this system allied with the Resistance?” He shrugs.

“Why don’t you know any of this? You guys are just one step away from all-knowing, right?” He throws back at you and you fight the urge to knock him back unconscious so he’ll stop talking.

“I don’t need to know any of that. I’m a TIE pilot, not a strategist.”

He nods his head in annoyance, as if you’re saying something he’s heard before. “Yeah yeah, you all do as you’re told for your whiny buckethead leader. My mistake.”

Your breath is caught in your throat. He’s hit a nerve, and all you can do is stare him down as you adjust the grip on your blaster. Your bicep has begun to shake from the stress of holding your arm up. Doesn’t he know that you don’t have a choice?

You swallow, lowering your arm and tucking your blaster into your holster. He shifts in his seat uncomfortably, watching you with apprehension. You climb up onto the X-Wing, ignoring the stabbing pain at your sides. He reaches for his blaster in response. 

“What are you doing?” For the first time, the nerves bleed through in his voice.

You roll your eyes, hooking your arms underneath his and pulling up. “I’m saving you, asshole.”


	3. boots made for walking

When you finally pull Poe free from the X-Wing, he insists on trying to dismount on his own, positively offended that you think he can’t manage it. 

So you watch him slowly inch down and gingerly place his feet against the dirt as he tests his limits. His face twists as a journey of emotions travel across his features, and you try your best to make sense of the battle taking place in his head. 

He shifts his weight forward so that he’s no longer leaning against the starfighter for support, but immediately he leans back again, his balance uneasy. You regard him with an impressive amount of patience as he comes to terms with what you both already know - he won’t be able to walk far with his injuries.

“You okay, Reb?” You goad.

He closes his eyes, squinting as if he’s willing your presence away. You can only wait, his stubbornness a welcome distraction from the worrying situation you find yourself in.

“You don’t have a plan, do you?” The man’s tone is antagonizing as he sits down on the dark mud of the ground. You join him, maintaining a few feet of distance like something awful will happen if you get too close to him.

“I’m… I’m thinking,” You sputter, your chest heaving as tendrils of anxiety begin to swirl through your veins. You pull the comlink from the vest of your flight suit, smacking the device against the palm of your hand like it’ll do any good activating it back to life. It remains dead and your shoulders slump ever so slightly, caving in under the weight of your defeat.

Your heartbeat is racing as you grasp for what the best course of action is though you’re at a loss. So much of this is uncharted territory for you. There’s no flight plan to follow, no orders from a superior. The fear of the unknown is paralyzing, every bone in your body screaming at you to just get back in the damn TIE and wait for a rescue. It can’t be that far off. You just need to be patient.

The air is fresh, flooding your nose with elements you don’t recognize. Your eyes take in the scenery you’ve quickly become acclimated to, though it looms over you like a threatening creature ready to pounce from behind the tree cover. The realization that you’re alone in an unidentified realm stranded with a stranger is terrifying. Is it safe for either of you? Is there anyone even remotely close who can help you?

Your last question permeates as your attention drifts to the source of the urgent problem. The Resistance pilot’s leg is confirmed as out of commission, a large gash spanning the length of his calf and a swelling at his ankle proving as much.

You have to come up with a way to transport him, your eyes traveling to the black and orange starfighter.

As scary as it is, this is your reality now. You have no choice but to take ownership of what happens to you, and there isn’t time to be scared. You have to remind yourself that you’ve learned how to play the game of the First Order, enduring the training tactics and managing to become a TIE commander. You can do anything to survive.

“You got any tools?” You ask, climbing up onto the vessel and testing how tightly the pilot’s chair is bolted in. There’s some give underneath your grip and your eyes immediately fall on a pack of tools tucked into a small compartment on the inside of the ship. Next to it is a tiny med pack which you toss in Poe’s direction when you pop your head up from your search.

“Nevermind!” You call, waving the tools in your hand above you. The miniscule victory gives you the boost of confidence you need as you map a makeshift stretcher for him out of the starfighter parts in your head.

“You think _you_ can fix my X-Wing?” He scoffs, reaching for the pack that landed a few feet too far from his reach. You watch him try to scoot closer to it without disturbing his leg, the smallest of grins pulling at the corner of your lips.

You glance at the machinery beside you before turning your attention back to him. “Looks like old tech, I’m sure it’s not that hard to figure out,” You toss at him and he rolls his eyes. You stand up and lean over the edge of the craft, inspecting the external damage further. “But this hunk of junk would need a miracle to fly again.”

You can just make out him repeating ‘hunk of junk’ under his breath incredulously and the smile involuntarily tugs at your lips again. He leaves you alone, and you begin to consider the sheer impossibility of your current situation. The illustrious Resistance pilot is at the mercy of the First Order - at your mercy.

You can see it now. Mav will have calculated your landing trajectory and a shuttle with a rescue team will find you. You’ll get to wipe the smug smirk off of Major Stirling’s face when you step back onto the Supremacy with none other than Poe Dameron. It’ll work out. It has to.

Once you finish unscrewing the last bolt on the pilot’s chair, you wriggle it free and throw it down onto the ground forcefully to get it out of the way. Immediately you start dismantling the other pieces you’ve identified for your project. There’s a sudden yelling from a voice that’s growing familiar and you peek over the side of the starfighter, only slightly curious as to what he’s on about this time.

“What are you doing to my X-Wing?” The exasperation is evident as he stares at you accusingly, his eyes wide. He’s a good distance away but there’s no mistaking the outrage on his features.

“You’ve reached your quota of questions for the day. Please try again tomorrow,” You bark at him. Maker, he was worse than the cadets in the TIE pilot program. You were trying to get both of you help; he could’ve been a little more grateful. He scowls and you pause to wipe a bead of sweat trailing down your temple before going back to stripping the starfighter.

Finally you have all the parts you anticipate needing and you raise your arms to throw them down to the pile you’ve gathered, wincing as the sharp pain returns to your sides. Most of the adrenaline has worn off and the trauma is taking its toll on your body. You take a few slow, even breaths before tucking the tools into your vest and hopping out of the ship.

When you hit the ground, that absolutely agitating voice is at it again. “This is _extremely_ disrespectful to my X-Wing. Do you know how many hours I spent making mods on it?”

“That’s a question. I said no more questions.”

“I had to lobby for that black exterior. Probably my favorite craft yet.” He’s rambling at this point, his voice trailing off as he gazes in the distance dramatically, like he’s playing back all the memories he’s made in the starfighter you’ve defiled.

You roll your eyes, lining up the pieces in the dirt cover. “Do I look like I care?”

Poe tuts. “I think that question rule should go both ways.”

Itching for the last word, you’re quick to fire back. “It’s just a starfighter. You don’t see me crying over that TIE. Who cares if I’ve flown it before? It’s not going to fly again.” You gesture to the mangled black orb yards away.

“Of course you don’t have your own starfighter,” He scoffs.

“That’s not the _point_ ,” You try before deciding it’s not worth it. As much as you’d love to continue debating with Poe, you need to finish working and he seems to understand as he quiets down and idly pulls at the blades of grass where he’s sitting.

You work quickly on assembling the stretcher, pausing every so often to wipe the sweat off your forehead as the muggy heat nags at you. You hope to the stars that there’s some form of life nearby that will help you. You’re not sure how much longer the two of you will last if it isn’t.

Though you’re not sure exactly how long it’s taken, the sun has moved quite a bit from its position when you landed and you know that means it’s been hours. Your eyes drift over to where the Resistance pilot is sitting, a little shocked that he’s actually left you alone for this long though you’ve felt his eyes on you every so often as you work. You focus on finishing the makeshift stretcher instead of allowing your thoughts to wander, something you’ve become quite good at recently. Your headspace has morphed into a confusing place you haven’t allowed yourself to meander through.

Once finished, you begin checking over your work, making sure each screw is tight and the apparatus is sturdy. You wipe your brow with the back of your arm, admiring your handiwork before looking back to the injured man you constructed it for. You drag it closer to him, stopping when you’re adjacent and gesturing for him to go ahead.

“I am very much not okay with this,” He states, folding his arms in protest while regarding what you’ve built with disgust.

You sigh. “Do you have a better idea?”

He ponders for a moment before he unfolds his arms, pushing off his body weight and situating himself onto the chair while grumbling incoherently. The tiniest look of relaxation washes over him when he rests against the back, and finally he gently pulls his legs on the stretch of scrap you’ve used to elongate the chair into a stretcher.

You bend down to buckle him in using the strap from the X-Wing repurposed into a safety belt for your little sled. He swats your hand away, grabbing onto the belt. “I can do it myself.”

“A thank you will do just fine,” You tell him, straightening and walking around to the back of the sled, where you’ve attached a pipe as a handle. You grip the durasteel but remain otherwise motionless.

You take one last look at the scene where you’ve landed, wondering if you’re doing the right thing. Should you just stay where you are in case they can track where your TIE has landed? You bite your lip as a sinking feeling flips in your stomach. While you prepared for the worst by making the stretcher, you had hoped that the First Order would have found you by now, and it feels like defeat to begin this unknown trek into the forest looming ahead of you.

Your eyes fall to Poe’s leg, where the orange fabric of his flight suit is ripped revealing a laceration that isn’t getting any better despite the first aid he applied and you think back to when he limply attempted to walk, and you know. You have to do this.

“Just out of curiosity, are you taking me to get medical attention or are we just looking for the first lowlife who will put you in contact with the First Order? I’d like to be prepared,” He asks, his tone light for a captive.

“Haven’t decided yet,” You answer, pulling the stretcher in the direction of the endless forest.

The truth is you’d kept Poe Dameron safe long before landing on this unknown island, and while an explanation for exactly why escaped you, your subconscious knew to do it like it was what you were programmed for.

\---

“We’re going to need to stop soon,” Poe says matter-of-factly. You’ve been pulling him behind you for far too long now. The flora and fauna of the forest floor has begun to meld together, and you can’t be sure you’re not just going in circles over and over. Your arms ache and your feet are pulsing in pain inside your heavy boots, echoing his sentiment though you’re determined to ignore it.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” You respond, jerking the stretcher with a little more energy as if to prove that you’re fine. “You’re my hostage, remember?”

“Is that so?” You can’t see his face since he’s seated with his back to you, but you have a good idea of the smug smirk he’s sporting right about now. “I guess we’ll see.”

Your eyebrows furrow together at his words. Last time you’d checked, he couldn’t even walk. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m a leader in the Resistance; a highly ranked pilot. You don’t think they have all their resources looking for me right now? I’m _Poe Dameron_. When we’re strategizing against you, I’m in that room giving input. So they’re looking for me.”

He pauses, and when you give him no response he continues with vitriol. “What are they doing for you? You might as well just start a new life on this planet instead. They’re not coming for you.”

You stop pulling him, letting out a puff of air through your nose angrily as your fists curl into tight balls of pressure. His words are ugly, thrown like daggers directed right at your chest from close range. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well? Do you have a name? Anything at all to prove they care one single bit about you?”

You walk around purposefully, gritting your teeth when you meet the glance of this pompous asshole. “Not that it’s _any_ of your business, you insensitive piece of scum, but my name is Blue. I am a commanding officer in the TIE fighter corps. I’m just as much a high-ranking pilot as you are, so yes, they are looking for me.”

“Blue,” He says, and there’s a tingling sensation that takes over you when you hear your callsign fall from his lips. A part of you is angered that he doesn’t know who you are, that he doesn’t recognize the work you’ve put in like you’ve done for him. On another level, you don’t want him to know you, and even the sound of your name from his voice causes you to shudder at the thought.

“Don’t… Don’t do that,” You cringe, folding your arms in discomfort. He’s still looking up at you like you’re some rare creature and you feel entirely too exposed. “My name isn’t for you. It’s for my squadron. My friends. Not you.”

“Sorry,” He clears his throat as he snaps out of it. “I’ve never met a First Order pilot with a name.”

You raise an eyebrow, eager to call him on his bullshit. “You meet a lot of TIE pilots?”

His face knits together in worry and he suddenly seems very far away, his eyes slightly glazed as he’s clearly somewhere deep inside his head. “No,” He admits quietly. “I’ve met one - well, he was a stormtrooper. He didn’t have a name. Just a sequence of letters and numbers.”

Your breath catches in your throat. There’s no way he knows you’re lying, but you can’t help but feel guilty. There’s no harm in omitting the truth for your benefit, is there? Your desire to prove him wrong about the First Order is so strong it shocks you. It’s like you’re trying to fool yourself as well, fighting against that little voice in your head that’s grown stronger and stronger in the shadows of your mind.

The overconfident asshole is back in the blink of an eye, sneering at you. “That stormtrooper is with us now. Helped me escape Kylo Ren and fled from your little club the first chance he got.”

A chill runs through you as his words register, and the memories of the rogue stormtrooper flood back. Poe was involved with that? You look at the man sitting before you in horror, the anxiety rumbling back to life.

“You mean the stormtrooper you brainwashed and kidnapped?” Your voice is unsteady, remembering the unrest the event had caused within the First Order. For months, the troopers were under a microscope and leadership was on edge - combing through each individual on the Supremacy with evaluations. They’d said that the Resistance was to blame; that they’d used psychological warfare on the stormtrooper and further training was necessary to fight back against the Rebels. You’d almost forgotten the tumult.

“That’s what they told you?” He spits out. “Blue, that’s not at all what happened. He rescued me. Kylo Ren was torturing me. And Finn - he…” Poe’s voice loses traction as he struggles to put the words together. He’s looking at you, but his expression is hard for you to read. If you could see yourself, you’d know why. You look as though your spit has gone sour with each word he says.

“Forget it,” He mumbles. You shift your weight in your boots, watching him carefully as he looks up at the sun peeking through the tree cover. “We really do need to stop and make camp soon, though.”

You suppose he’s right. In just the short amount of time you’ve been stopped, you’ve grown more and more exhausted as the day’s events catch up to you. You’re reminded again of how lacking you are in skills you’ll be needing until you find refuge, and since Poe offered the initial opening to the conversation you figure that he’s open to continue supplying information in the interest of staying alive.

“Okay,” You yield. You struggle to get your next words out, bracing yourself for his ridicule. “Can… Can you talk me through what I need to do?”

“What, the First Order didn’t teach survival skills in your training?” He gives you that smirk again, but you’re too concerned to let it get to you. It’s painfully clear how different your lives are.

“Waste of time to teach that to a division intended only for space flight,” You pause, unsure if you should even admit this information. Ultimately, you decide he can’t do anything with it and if it makes him feel bad enough to help, then it only makes sense. “I’ve never been on a planet, Poe. I’ve spent my whole life either on a star destroyer or in a TIE fighter.”

The silence is deafening as you stare intensely at the ground, and you’re shocked he hasn’t thrown a smart jab at you yet. When you meet his eyes, his gaze is much softer than you anticipated. It’s still guarded, but it’s more curious than condescending. It’s a very subtle gentleness as he bows his head in acceptance.

“I will talk you through it, but only because if you die I’ll probably die too,” He says with a slightly playful tone. You can tell he’s still hung up on your admission that you’ve only experienced the corner of the universe that exists on the Supremacy. 

He notes that you still have an hour or two of sunlight left, so you continue deeper into the forest as he explains everything you’ll need to make camp tonight and for once, his voice isn’t an annoyance but a calming melody.


	4. all these things i’ve done

The forest comes alive at night.

Despite how exhausted you are, it’s keeping you awake. Each noise alerts you to what might be lurking just beyond the modest campsite you’ve made. You open your eyes, giving up hope for the time being. The area glows with the light of the fire, though it’s slowly dying down as the hours pass. The repetitive crackling is your only source of comfort as your eyes travel the perimeter, searching for any sign of intruders.

You look over to where Poe is sleeping, his arms crossed over his chest. His neck is turned upwards, his head resting in the pilot’s chair you’ve repurposed for him. You wonder how deeply he’s really sleeping seeing as your nerves won’t let you settle. Somehow it doesn’t surprise you that he has the ability to fall asleep anywhere.

Meanwhile, your mind is in a state of turmoil. The events of the past few days, Poe’s claim that the rogue stormtrooper left on his own volition, and the ghosts of vague memories continue to haunt you. Not only are you physically exhausted, but your brain is tired. All you want is to piece it together, to organize it all, to make it make sense. You don’t know how much longer you can ignore these thoughts, the dissonance weighing on you.

And that doesn’t even scratch the surface when it comes to Poe Dameron. You take in the sight of him, his face arrogant even in his sleep. But a part of you has softened, recalling that he spent hours talking you through everything you’d need to make camp for the night. He told you how to find your way back to camp so you didn’t get lost in the woods while searching for timber and water. He hobbled close to the pit and started the fire for the night after you had struggled for the better part of an hour. With every task, he was patient and understanding as you attempted skills that took practice and expertise you didn’t have. 

It was a shock. Sure, he was doing it for his survival as much as he was for yours, and he managed to throw in a smart comment here and there, but it was strange to experience such kindness. You were so used to being on your own; having to figure everything out without assistance. Asking for help from someone in the First Order was highlighting yourself as a weak link, especially as a pilot. You hadn’t expected Poe to respond to your inadequacy with a calm gentleness, considering the less than amicable communication you’d had.

Was that normal? Is that how interactions outside of the First Order went? He was admittedly the first person you’d had contact with since your indoctrination all those years ago, and you couldn’t remember a time before that. You’d grown up within the walls of the Supremacy. The memories from before were too far gone now.

“Why are you staring at me?” His voice, groggy with sleep, startles you as he shifts his position on the chair. Your heart rate quickens; he’s caught you in your moment of contemplation. You clear your throat awkwardly, immediately turning your attention to the tree cover above you, hoping he’ll leave it alone.

“Hello? I asked you a question.” 

You shut your eyes tightly, the corners of your eyes crinkling from the pressure. “Shh. I’m asleep.”

He snorts, and when you open your eyes again you’re met with his skeptical face staring you down.

“I don’t know how you can sleep with all the noises,” You offer as an explanation, gesturing to your surroundings. His eyebrows furrow in recognition of your plight.

“You’re right, we don’t know what’s out there,” He says, pausing while he uses his good leg to prop himself up higher. “I’ll stay up the rest of the night and keep watch. You need sleep.” 

You look at him curiously, not sure you heard him correctly. Was he being nice? Again?

“What will you do if something attacks us? You can’t walk,” You remind him, still cautious of if you can trust him.

He shrugs. “I’ll throw something at you to wake you up.”

You bite back the chuckle you want to let out, returning your attention to the sky above you. In the hours you’ve been awake, you’ve been staring at the stars as they twinkle in the darkness of night. They look so different down here. They’re mesmerizing.

Your mind still races, and the knowledge that he’s awake is prompting you to ask what you’ve been stuck on since your conversation earlier in the day. You know you should just let it go. It will be a terrible mistake to give him any insight into what’s going on in that mind of yours. But there’s something about him that makes you feel comfortable. You couldn’t explain it if you tried, but you know it’s not just the hours that you’ve spent strategizing and studying, but something deeper. So without another thought, you say it.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth about the stormtrooper?” 

You allow yourself to peer at him from the corner of your eye and watch his lips curl into a shit-eating grin. “Well, you could come with me to the Resistance and meet Finn for yourself.”

You snicker at the thought as you turn away from him, trying to get comfortable on your patch of forest floor. “Sure, Poe.”

There’s a brief pause punctuated by the continuous crackle of the fire, and you watch the shadows dance animatedly across the trees.

“Go to sleep, Blue. You’ve got a big day of keeping me hostage tomorrow.”

You bite your lip, glad that he can’t see your lips betraying you into a smile. You must be feeling slaphappy from your lack of sleep, but you’re beginning to like the way he says your nickname.

\---

The journey continues bright and early the next morning, when Poe wakes you by spraying you with the last remaining drops of his water.

“Good morning, sunshine!” He sings happily when you crack your eyes open. You don’t realize you’ve taken your pillow for granted until this moment, when all you want is to shove your head underneath one.

“Call me a pet name again, Dameron. See what happens,” You growl, rubbing your eyes while you adjust to the morning light.

“Ah, you’re not a morning person. I’m learning new things about you every day,” He notes, though he leaves you alone for the rest of the morning. It doesn’t take long to pack up your camp since you both don’t have much of anything. You stamp out any embers remaining in the fire while Poe gets comfortable in his makeshift stretcher.

He’s remarkably quiet in the hours you spend trudging through the forest. You’re constantly analyzing the surroundings, looking for any sign of a well-traveled path or clearing leading to civilization. As the day goes on without any sound from Poe, your concern grows and you feel the need to check in.

“How are the injuries feeling, Poe?” You ask, a little short of breath. You pause to pull at the collar of your flight suit in an attempt to cool down. Is every planet so hot? The air is practically squeezing your chest with humidity. If they’re all like this, you’ll take life on the climate-controlled star destroyers any day.

“Hm,” He grunts, and it doesn’t sound good. There’s a long pause and you travel a few feet before he continues. “Not great.”

You stop immediately when you hear his voice admit the words. He sounds out of it, sick almost. Peering over the chair, you can see that his face has paled though it’s dripping in sweat, and while it is incredibly muggy on this planet, he’s far sweatier than someone only sitting in a chair should be.

“Poe, what’s going on?” You ask, rushing to his leg to inspect the injury. Your stomach lurches when you see the gash, much angrier than it was before and oozing something nasty. The redness is spreading, too, taking hold of his entire leg from what you can see. He doesn’t answer and you watch his eyes flutter, struggling to stay open. His wound must be infected, and it’s worsening fast. You curse under your breath as you watch him, clearly in pain and discomfort. He needs medical help urgently.

“Stay with me, Poe,” You order, though you’re not sure he registers what you say. You leap back to the handles, dragging the sled as fast as you can. He groans weakly, and you try to calm the panic that’s rising within you. Someone has to be out there who can help. You have to be close. 

You just had to crash land on this humid wasteland, didn’t you?

“Poe? Talk to me, please,” You beg. It’s almost comical. Yesterday you would’ve given anything for him to shut up. “Tell me about your home.”

“Yavin 4,” He mumbles. “I’m from Yavin 4.”

“Yeah?” You rasp out, unable to catch your breath as you rush through the forest. Your head is on a swivel, searching for any possible sign of life. “What’s it like there?”

“Beautiful. Green. Home.” He manages out. You chew the inside of your lip nervously, wishing you could magically transport him to safety.

“Come on, Poe, the one time I want you to talk and you’re a man of few words? You’ve gotta give me more than that,” You urge him, picking up the pace more though you’re drenched in sweat. Your legs burn in protest, barely recovered from the day before. You’re really not sure that you aren’t going in circles now, but you can make out a clearing that looks promising in your line of sight. You hope you’re not imagining it…

“Tell me what it’s like to fly an X-Wing,” You try, moving purposefully towards what you can only hope is your rescue.

“Can’t.” He says indignantly.

You’re too concerned for his well-being to laugh, despite how silly he sounds. He clearly has no idea what he’s saying. “Why’s that?”

“It’s confidential,” He responds immediately, and you can’t stop your grin from forming.

“Apologies for overstepping,” You yield jokingly. “Just hold on a little bit longer, okay? I’m gonna fix this.”

You can’t help but feel like this is your fault. Maybe if you hadn’t moved him from the landing site, the Resistance would have located him and brought him back to safety. While you can’t be sure, you know that you should’ve recognized his symptoms earlier. You should’ve found help more urgently. If he doesn’t make it, it will be on your hands, and you’re caught off guard by how much the thought hurts you.

When you reach the clearing, relief washes over you as the sprinkling of huts throughout a field comes into view. Humans are scattered around the land, and it appears that it’s a farming village. You sprint for the first person within reach, yelling for help. You don’t notice that your screams have garnered the attention of everyone in the fields, just focused on the individual closest to you, an older gentleman in tattered clothing and a straw hat.

“Please, can you help? He needs medical assistance,” You plead. The man is silent and unmoving as he stares at the pilot’s chair quizzically. Your breathing is ragged as you wait for his response. “Do you speak Basic?” You add when he fails to respond.

“He doesn’t speak,” A young woman says from behind him, approaching slowly. You take a moment to look around and register just how many eyes are on you. The vulnerability sets in as you remember you’re in a First Order flight suit, and Poe is still in his Resistance orange. Will they even help you? You bring your gaze back to the woman, unsure how to proceed.

“He is our healer, though. How did you know?” She asks, a smile warming up her features and immediately you feel a spark of hope.

“Lucky guess,” You admit softly. She nods, directing her attention to the man and moving her hands in a way you’ve never seen before. He watches her movements and follows with his own before you realize they’re communicating this way.

“How can we help?” She asks you. While you explain Poe’s injuries, she guides the group of you to a nearby hut. Once in the privacy of the dwelling, you both unstrap him and transfer him to the bed. He’s incoherent at this point, and the worry coursing through you is unbearable. You stand over him on the bed, your hands trembling in fear.

You jump when you feel a hand rest on your shoulder, and the dark-haired woman is at your side. “Rayne will help him. We have everything he needs to heal here,” She offers reassuringly.

Your eyes bounce between the man and woman, both regarding you with concern. The hut is too small for all of you, and there’s no time to waste for Poe’s treatment. You nod, your shoulders slumping as you make your way out with the woman. Her arm is still around you as she ushers you away.

“I’m Winta,” She says as you walk back into the open air, the sun almost blinding in comparison to the darkness inside the hut. “What’s your name?”

“You can call me Blue,” You answer.

“You’re free to wait here,” She says. “I’ll be just inside assisting Rayne. I’ll come out with any updates as soon as I can.”

You look around aimlessly, conscious that a few prying eyes are trained on you. You must be quite the attention-grabber, with your easily recognizable flight suit and your grand entrance. As you begin to settle, you slowly lower yourself to sit on the raised deck that supports the hut, folding your hands in your lap and focusing intently on them.

All you can do now is wait.

\---

It’s a few hours before Winta emerges from the hut. You’re fairly sure that the agony of waiting has driven you insane, causing you to pace like a kath hound. You’ve entertained every single scenario that can play out, settling on some of the worst as the most probable. You stop mid-pace, your stomach dropping when she pushes back the curtain and steps out. She sends a knowing smile as she approaches.

“Please, sit,” She says, gesturing towards the edge of the wooden deck you grew tired of sitting on hours ago. You oblige her, chewing on the inside of your lip in anticipation.

“He’s going to be okay,” She begins, and you let out a sigh of relief as you register the words. She lets you take the information in before she continues.

“Rayne says that you’re very lucky you found us when you did. His wound was infected by a rapid-spreading bacteria that could have gone to his heart. We’re also fortunate to have had Bacta on hand, but it’s hard to come by and very expensive in this region,” She points out. You nod in understanding, though you had no idea life was like this for some. You recognize that you’ve been sheltered, and on some level you’re fortunate to be a member of the First Order where resources are never scarce.

“His ankle is broken as well, and you will need to stay here while it heals. Time is the best medicine for the bones,” She adds. You nod again, still processing.

“All we ask is that you help us in the fields while you are here,” She finishes. You meet her gaze, your eyes wide.

“I have no experience with farming,” You say quietly.

She smiles again and nods, her demeanor gentle. “I’m sure. We will teach you what you need to know.”

You remind yourself how lucky you are to have found this village. You could’ve very easily been taken advantage of, but all these people want is help harvesting and in exchange saved Poe’s life and will provide food and shelter. It’s another example of incredible kindness that you didn’t know possible.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you.” You try to sum it up into words, though they pale in comparison to the powerful emotions you’re feeling.

She nods knowingly, resting her hand on your shoulder blade. “He’s awake for now. Why don’t you catch up with him? I’ll fetch you some supper. You must be starving.”

“Thank you so much, Winta.”

She heads off towards a smattering of huts in the distance and you quickly pop up, dusting off your thighs absentmindedly. You take a deep breath, contemplating what this means for you and your “hostage.” The lines have gotten so blurry.

You push back the curtain to the hut slowly, resting your eyes on the source of your anguish. Poe’s sitting up slightly in the bed, his entire leg wrapped in a tight bandage. He already looks much better than when you arrived with him.

“Poe Dameron, you live to see another day,” You declare, padding over to the chair Winta no doubt placed next to his bed and taking a seat.

“All thanks to you, so I’m told,” He grins, his voice hoarse. He’s still weak, but that spirit of his is very much there.

You wave him off, sitting back in the chair. “An exaggeration.”

“Oh no, I heard you were very worried about me,” He pushes. “Frantic, even.”

You figure you can let him have this one, seeing as it’s been a pretty traumatic day for him. So you merely raise an eyebrow as you sit in silence, waiting for him to finish.

“I’m just wondering which exact moment it was when I charmed you. And what was it about me? The devilish good looks? That I know my way around a fire? I’m all ears, and I have loads of time to listen,” He goes on. You cross your arms, daring him to continue.

“You need to shut up and rest, dumbass,” You mutter.

His grin only gets wider. “For you, my darling Blue? Anything.”

“Is it too late to reverse the effects of the Bacta?” You wonder aloud. He laughs quietly and you allow yourself to smile at him, catching the softness of his deep brown eyes. There’s a moment of comfortable, knowing silence between you.

“You keep saving me,” He says softly.

You sigh, looking down at your fingernails and inspecting them as a distraction. He almost died. You figure you owe him honesty. “There’s something about you, Poe. I can’t explain it.”

“I think I can,” He replies. “When I was out of it, I saw you. In my memories. It was… It was from my childhood. I remember it now. I remember when they kidnapped you, Y/N.”

A chill runs through you when you hear it. It’s not your callsign. It isn’t your operating number. It’s your name. Tears begin to well at the corners of your eyes and your nose is stinging. It’s like a pressure has been released from your body, something that has been on the tip of your tongue for years is finally clear and the relief of knowing is therapeutic.

“It _is_ you,” He murmurs as he watches your reaction. His eyes are wide, looking at you in wonder. “I wasn’t completely sure, but… it’s you.”

“I…” you sniffle, wiping at your eyes. Surely you must look like a blubbering mess. “I don’t remember much. I can see parts of it. It’s more like colors and smells. Feelings. But that name… That’s my name. I know it.”

The tears are streaming down your face when Winta walks in with a tray of food for you, her expression quickly turning to shock when she sees you. “Oh! I’m sorry-”

“I just need some air,” You mumble, springing up from the chair and scurrying out of the hut.

You’d always wanted answers, but you didn’t think you’d actually get them. Your entire world has fallen off its axis, and now it’s collapsing in on itself. Nothing will ever be the same.


	5. all the stars are closer

Beads of sweat continuously trickle down your temple as you focus once again on the land you’ve been working for the past few hours. Though you’ve been planetside for over a week now, you still aren’t fully adjusted to the temperate climate, prompting you to unstick your clothes from your body every so often. There’s a burning tightness in your lower back, your body tired of its hunched position over the soil though you ignore it in favor of finishing up your harvesting. You don’t think there’s anything that could pull you away from the task at hand, until you hear quiet giggling reverberate from a few yards away. Your eyes rake across the field like a hawk, resting on a pair of young girls watching you curiously while they whisper to each other behind their hands.

You brace your hand against the dirt, resting your body weight on your wrist as you pause to investigate what seems to be so funny. Even though they’re much younger, the insecurity that courses through you still stings as if you’re under the gaze of a judgmental First Order general and your skin grows even hotter as the wave of insecurity rushes over you. It’s no secret that you stick out like a sore thumb among the locals, and these little girls are clearly getting a kick out of your presence.

With such a long list of nuances to the everyday life here, you can only imagine what has them laughing at your expense. You quickly look to Winta, standing a few feet away from you as she picks fruit from a tree. She doesn’t stop, her lips curving into a smile while she glances at them from the corner of her eye. She looks positively serene, her movements fluid and graceful - a sign that she’s been doing this for years.

“They’re just interested in you,” She offers without breaking her rhythm. She takes a moment to inspect your work before she chuckles to herself. “And that’s a weed you’ve picked.”

You sigh in response, your shoulders sloping as you look back to the girls and smile. “I meant to do that.”

They giggle some more before running back to their families and your eyes are glued to the interaction intently, taking it in with a genuine curiosity. You tear your eyes away reluctantly when you notice one of the mothers eyeing you with what you can clearly recognize as poorly hidden disdain. You return your attention to the weed in the harvest pile, turning it over in your hands gently. You toss it away, concentrating deeply on the soil in front of you.

“How are you finding it here?” Winta disrupts your focus once more. Her smile is warm and inviting, a source of comfort for you throughout the days you’ve spent in this unfamiliar place where you know so little about the way of life.

“It’s lovely,” You confess, and the honesty is evident in your voice. “You all have been so welcoming, despite my inability to tell a weed from a plant.”

You share a smile as you continue to work in sync, side by side. The wind gently blows through the trees and a variety of birds chirp from their perches. You hadn’t noticed the lull of if before, but it helps you feel calm.

“Well, we can’t expect you to be an expert at something you’ve never done before now can we?” She assures you. Winta has taken the time to introduce you to many of the community’s inhabitants, to teach you their culture while getting to know you as well. You’ve told her what little you can, what you think is safe for her to know. She’s a smart woman who can fill in some of the gaps. These are peaceful people with no political leanings and it’s best to leave her in the dark with anything that could jeopardize that.

There’s a constant worry that ribbons through your head that just being here puts these kind, innocent people at risk. You can only hope that what Poe said was right, that the First Order really isn’t looking for you. That wouldn’t bother you as much if you hadn’t discovered it’s not the first time in your life you’d been discarded without so much as a second thought.

“I’m happy you’re here,” She continues, pulling you out of your tangled, anxious web of thoughts. Winta can sense your inner turmoil with her emotional intelligence, and you’re grateful that she always seems to know when you need a reminder that you’re welcome here. “Poe, too.”

She sends you a look, trying to gauge any reaction. You haven’t gone to see him since you arrived, and she knows this but clearly doesn’t want to pry. You’d decided that you needed space and time to process the information you now have: that you’re from Yavin 4, and you were kidnapped by what would become the First Order when you were just a child. You thought knowing about your past would give you peace, but if anything it only confuses you more. You try to process it all on your own, but with each passing day the weight of it becomes harder to bear.

You offer Winta a meek smile, taking that as your cue to end your work for the day. You don’t want to ice her out. She means well, and despite being strangers you can tell that she genuinely cares about your wellbeing. But you can’t tell her anything about your dilemma without endangering her, and you know who you really should be piecing it together with instead. You just can’t bring yourself to do it quite yet.

The sun is lowering in the sky and more of the villagers have abandoned their posts in favor of preparing dinner, so you gather up your bounty to ensure it gets cleaned in time for the meal. You quietly excuse yourself before walking in the direction of the village’s center, smiling at each individual you pass.

After a week of staying with the kind strangers who had graciously taken you and Poe in, you’d assimilated into their routines as best you could. They’d welcomed you as if you were an old friend, and as you approach the commune’s kitchens you feel a strange sense of familiarity. Your mind flashes back to the hangar on the Supremacy, where you always timidly smiled at each worker though they never returned the sentiment. A pang of nerves strike in your stomach at the thought, and you quickly brush it off. 

The environment here is different to anything you’ve experienced, and you watch the interactions carefully trying to soak everything in. Tasks are done with love, for the betterment and support of the group. Those who need help ask for it with no qualms, and those who can offer help give without a second thought. It’s a true community, and it’s becoming increasingly clear to you that the First Order is not.

Once you reach the cleaning stations you distractedly dump the vegetables into a basin of water and begin to rid them of dirt. Your thoughts drift in and out like the ocean’s tide as you scrub vigorously until each one is completely clean. When finished, you drop them off in the kitchen hut with a smile. The group thanks you, letting you know that dinner will be ready within the hour.

You head back to the hut you’ve been staying in, looking forward to resting your feet before dinner. You slip past the curtain, shutting your eyes tightly as you roll your shoulders and your neck once you reach the privacy afforded to you in the cozy room you’ve grown used to over the week. When you open your eyes again, you’re startled to find a pair of dark, brown eyes on you from the bed.

“Hi,” Poe says quietly, his hands folded neatly in his lap where he’s sat on the bed. Your eyes widen as you run them along his form, trying to make sure he’s really there. His presence catches you so off guard that you’re stunned into a silence that seeps into your brain. Every thought that has run rampant this past week is gone, replaced by a chilling emptiness shining a bright light on the very obvious shift in your relationship with the Resistance pilot. It’s different now, and as much as you want to, you can’t ignore it

Poe’s voice cuts through the heavy silence.

“Rayne released me from his care, so I was told to stay here with you. I guess they think we’re together,” He says, twiddling his thumbs.

“Why didn’t you tell them we’re not?” You ask, your tone sharper than you intend. You’re unprepared to deal with what comes next, what you’ve been avoiding, so you try to delay it further, already calculating your exit plan in your head.

He shrugs. “These people are kind enough to let us stay here and to heal me. I didn’t want to impose.”

“We’re not sharing a bed,” You shoot back. “I’ll talk to Winta at dinner.”

Stepping further into the hut, you grab a washcloth and wipe at your face in an effort to feel somewhat clean before supper. You try your best to ignore Poe, but you feel the weight of his presence and the burn of his stare as it bores into you.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” He says quietly. Your heart sinks ever so slightly as you’re forced to consider the reality of the week he’s spent mostly alone while Rayne tended to his injuries. Instead, you were off meeting the inhabitants of the village, enjoying this new sense of togetherness and paying no mind to his existence.

“I just needed to be alone,” You offer lamely, continuing to freshen up while you avoid his gaze. You have to remind yourself that you’ve only known Poe for a few days. Any connection you feel to him is just out of convenience, and you are very much not friends with this man. You don’t even really know him, despite your heart screaming at you that the exact opposite is true.

“Are we going to talk about it?” He pushes.

“Talk about what?” You muse, throwing the cloth into a bin for washing and finally looking at him. The shadow of his beard is darker than when you last saw him. He looks much healthier, the image of him nearly incoherent with infection seared into your memory. His ankle is wrapped up, and you notice the pair of crutches leaning on the bed next to him. You finally allow yourself to look into his eyes, your stomach fluttering when you register the worry emanating from them.

He says your name, and the breath hitches in your throat. You’d been turning the string of letters over in your mind endlessly since he uttered them to you, but it was still foreign and even a bit uncomfortable. It’s a blaring reminder that you don’t know who you are anymore.

“Poe,” You warn softly. His lower lip disappears as he bites down on it, bracing himself for what you’ll say next. “Listen to me. It changes nothing.”

“You can’t be serious. It changes _everything_!” He raises his voice slightly, his tone incredulous that you’d believe such a thing. The strings on your heart are tugged further at his exasperation.

“Think about it. What am I supposed to do? Go back to the place I was taken from? The place that didn’t _bother_ trying to save me?” You match his anger level easily. He opens his mouth to speak but you continue before he can offer a rebuttal. “You think my parents would want me back? If they’re still alive, what once was their daughter is certainly not anymore.”

For the first time, you’ve said it out loud and it’s painful. Your throat is tight and you’re alarmed by how quickly your body is ready to spill tears.

You’re truly not sure that learning about your past changes anything about your present. You’re a TIE commander. It doesn’t matter where you come from. If anything, it solidifies your place there. Your family and your community didn’t even try to rescue you all those years ago. They’d decided you weren’t worth saving. How could you be expected to come running back to them?

“The Resistance will-”

You hold a hand up, silencing him as you swallow hard. You can feel the conversation gaining traction faster than you’re ready for, which is exactly why you’d avoided him. “We’re not having this conversation, Poe.”

Turning on your heel, you make your way out of the hut towards the gathering place where dinner will be served. Poe can’t follow behind with his broken ankle, but you hear his voice call out after you.

“You can’t keep pushing me away! As soon as I figure out walking on these crutches...”

A smile tugs at your lips as you add distance between you and the Resistance pilot. Poe Dameron does not give up easily. It’s the one thing you can count on.

\---

“I’m sorry, I have to ask,” Winta says upon hearing that she simply must rearrange your accommodation. “What’s going on between you two?”

“You have been very patient,” You admit, taking a swig of spotchka as you both allow your eyes to wander over to Poe, who chose to sit at the kid’s table on his first night of dining with the village. One child is hanging from Poe’s crutch as he holds it steady, animatedly using his free hand to tell a story to the young audience that looks positively enchanted. He makes eye contact with you and sends a wink in your direction once he notices you staring.

You hold back your urge to roll your eyes, catching Winta’s grin from the corner of your eye. You rest your elbows on the table and cradle your chin on your hands, continuing to watch the pomp and circumstance Poe is conjuring up for the kids as they eat it up. “What do you _think_ is going on?”

Her grin spreads wider in hope that her theory is true. “I think you’re on the run together, but woefully unprepared for what you’ve encountered so far and so it’s led to trouble in paradise.”

You let out a quiet chuckle, your eyes still on Poe. He catches your gaze every so often, clearly wondering what you’re talking about and you’re entertained by his curiosity. You can tell he loves being the center of attention, and a part of you can’t wait to pretend you have no idea what he’s talking about when he inevitably asks what the nature of the conversation was.

“Not quite,” You tell Winta. “We aren’t together.”

She nods in understanding. Poe looks to be finishing up his story as he helps the child down from using his crutch like a playground. You take this as your cue to head out as well, gathering up the dishes on the table.

“He’s a good man,” She notes, her voice sincere. “It’s easy to see that you care a great deal for each other.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you clear your throat to snap yourself out of it quickly. “Well, we can care for each other in separate living spaces, right?”

This time it’s Winta’s turn to roll her eyes in amusement as she gets up to follow. “I’ll see what I can do.”

\---

Following dinner, Winta offers to show you and Poe one of her favorite parts of the island. You can tell what she’s doing, feeling emboldened by your earlier conversation, but it would be rude to refuse your host. Just a short walk away from the village is a black sand beach. The waves roll in peacefully, lit neon blue by bioluminescence and it takes your breath away the moment it catches your eye. You’ve never seen anything like it.

A group of children follow the three of you on your walk over, and you look on as they run through the waves giggling uncontrollably. You’ve managed to keep your distance from Poe, but the image of the kids piques your interest as you wonder if you ever did anything like this on Yavin 4. He locks eyes with you and he seems to know exactly what you’re thinking, his eyebrows raised slightly in interest when he recognizes the unbridled curiosity on your features for the first time all night.

“I have to get the little ones back for their bedtime, but feel free to stay here as long as you like. The way home is the path between the large trees here.” Winta gestures towards the forest clearing, where the ground is packed lovingly from the many feet that have traveled on top of it before. You widen your eyes at Winta, trying your best to communicate that you will somehow get her back for this. Poe merely thanks her and you both watch as the rowdy group makes their reluctant exit, the kids whining about wanting to stay out later.

When you return your gaze to Poe, his eyes are already on yours watching with curiosity. He’s trying to gauge where you’re at since the last time you spoke, just before dinner. He’s in luck that your conversation with Winta has opened your heart just slightly.

He’s quiet for once, waiting for you to explain what’s been on your mind throughout the week, but you’re willing to let the awkward silence fester. You’re counting the seconds in your head, waiting for enough time to pass so you can return to the village without Winta noticing you didn’t stay.

“Come on, you can’t ignore me forever,” Poe chides.

You raise an eyebrow. “Watch me.”

Walking away from Poe is too easy while he’s on crutches, you almost feel bad. You hear his grunts as his crutches burrow in the sand with each step he attempts. You turn around after making a few strides, the guilt creeping up on you again as you see him struggle.

“You realize that even though we might have grown up in the same place, we don’t know each other, right? Last time I checked, we actually don’t get along,” You point out.

He readjusts the crutches underneath his arms, tilting his head in consideration. “I don’t get along with everyone in the Resistance either, but I can recognize a good pilot when I see one. We could use you.”

“I don’t want to be used, Poe.”

“Oh, like you’re not being used now?”

“Maybe I don’t want to fight in this war anymore. Maybe I just want a normal life, like these people.”

Poe narrows his eyes at you. “We both know that’s not an option for either of us.”

“Why do you _care_? Not too long ago, you told me I should just stay here because no one was looking for me. What, are you feeling guilty that I got that short end of the stick?” You cross your arms, your expression stone-faced.

He looks off to the side towards the forest with an incredulous smile on his face. It’s one you’ve come to recognize when his frustration with you increases. “You cared _first_. I’m just trying to catch up, but I’m getting whiplash. One minute you’re saving my life, the next you want nothing to do with me.”

You bring a hand to your forehead in anguish, shifting your weight as you take a step back. “Because I don’t know who I am! I don’t know what to do. I don’t know _anything_.”

The pressure blooms in your chest and you can’t stop your lip from quivering. You look down, clasping your hands together awkwardly so that you don’t have to look at Poe. You hear shuffling and shut your eyes tightly, wishing you could be anywhere but here. You don’t want him to see you like this, weak and unsure.

“Hey,” He says softly, and you find yourself opening your eyes to see him. His eyes are so soft that you think he might actually be worried about you. “It’s okay. Why don’t we sit down?”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you give him the smallest nod. You have to help him, but eventually you both settle into the sand comfortably. You’re reminded of the last time you sat side by side with him, when you first landed here. It hasn’t even been that long, but it feels like that was ages ago. You take a deep breath in, letting it out slowly.

“I can remember that there was a life before. It’s not clear, though. They send all recruits through a rigorous conditioning once you’re indoctrinated. I’m not supposed to have memories of anything, but I do.” 

You pause, tracing your hand through the sand as a tingle crawls up your spine. A chill spreads across your skin and you get the feeling like you’ve been in this exact place doing this exact action before - sitting on the beach, tracing your hand through the sand by the light of the moon. This is one of the memories you have.

“Actually,” You clear your throat. “I can recall sitting on a beach at night, just like this. The water wasn’t electric blue. That has to be one of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen,” You trail.

Poe’s looking at you intently, taking in your every word. “There’s a beach on Yavin 4 that was close to our houses. That’s probably what you remember,” He supplies.

You consider his words, watching the waves roll in and out before deciding how to continue.

“Do you know anything about me?” You ask timidly.

He smiles softly, and you can almost appreciate how handsome he looks when he does so but you’re too nervous to hear what he’s about to tell you. “It’s not super clear for me either. We were really young when it happened. I do remember that we both wanted to be pilots. We’d look up at the stars and talk about what it was going to be like flying up there.”

A warmth spreads throughout your veins stemming from your heart. You can’t help but feel like strings of fate led you both to follow your passion though you arrived there in very different ways.

“I really do love being a pilot,” You whisper, looking up at the night sky twinkling above you. “It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense to me.”

“There’s nothing like it,” Poe agrees. A blanket of silence settles over you as you revel in the fact that there’s at least one thing you have in common. You’re still admiring the vast expanse of space hanging over you, struggling to accept the reality that you call that cold, infinite void your home yet it’s so very far from where you are at the current moment.

“I knew that you weren’t really about to give up being a pilot,” He goads. “You don’t fly like that unless it’s in your blood.”

You share a knowing smile and he gently bumps his shoulder against yours. It’s almost nice. It’s simple, for now. You look back up at the sky with a wonderment you don’t think will ever wear off.

Poe’s looking at you. You can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t look away from the endless darkness. You wonder where exactly the Supremacy is, which reminds you that Bright Eyes, Mav and the rest of your squadron are all up there; the closest thing you have to friends - the only people who might care about you. The knot in your stomach twists deeper when you think of how they might not care about you at all, and of the unsettling reality that your existence is so fleeting for everyone you’ve come to know. 

“I can only imagine how hard this must be for you.” He offers, his voice gentle. You nod slowly, grateful that he’s at least trying to understand.

“Can we make an agreement?” You ask quietly. He raises an eyebrow and waits for you to continue.

“What if… until you’re healed and we leave… we were just two people? No Resistance, no First Order. Just normal for a little bit. I’d really like to figure out who I am on my own.”

You know how important the Resistance is to Poe, and it’s written across his features as he ponders your request. He’ll never be normal. You can feel your heart sinking slowly, wishing you could just tell him you’re ready to join him. But you don’t belong with him, or the Resistance. With the amount of destruction you’ve carried out at the hands of the First Order? You know deep down you don’t belong anywhere.

“Okay, Blue. Until we leave, just normal people,” He says simply. You raise your eyebrows in shock and he nods back at you, a tiny smile crossing his lips.

“Really?” You ask, just to be sure you heard him right.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m still going to wear you down, but yeah. I think you deserve to be normal for a little bit,” Poe shrugs.

That’s the thing about Poe Dameron, you’re learning. He might be stubborn, and insufferable, but he’s kind. He knows when to give you a break, and when you don’t give him a choice he can channel his stubbornness into patience. 

For just a split second, you allow yourself to be grateful that out of all the possible realities the universe could have chosen for you, it chose to bring you and this man together.


End file.
